


standing on broken dreams (what dreams are made of)

by d_fenestrate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 15, Angst, Family Bonding, Fluff, M/M, SPN Holiday Mixtape, Song fic, Team Free Will 2.0 (Supernatural), Van Halen- Dreams, season 15 coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22142278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_fenestrate/pseuds/d_fenestrate
Summary: “What are you looking at?” Someone suddenly asks, walking in from behind Castiel. Castiel is able to hear the rustling of what seemed like plastic bags as the individual came closer.“Jack’s…” Castiel trails off, trying to remember what Jack’s identification had been. “…gingerbread house.” He then turns to Dean, fully adorning that look of confusion he had been masking in front of Jack.The hunter simply beams back and sends a finger towards the ‘gingerbread house’’s direction.“Oh that?” Dean chuckles. “Yeah, I helped with that.” Castiel’s face falls as Dean continues the statement with a comment under his breath. “Did most of the work actually, if I’m going to be honest.”“Dean.” The angel states flatly.The hunter glances at Castiel, confused at the sudden change in tone."It's shit."alt; an angst-fluff-angst sandwich following the beginning of s15 with a little bit of holiday magic
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	standing on broken dreams (what dreams are made of)

**Author's Note:**

> liTERALLY LAST MINUTE BC I'VE BEEN IN A FUNK BUT ALSO IM STUBBORN AND WILL FINISH THINGS THAT I START NO MATTER HOW MEDIOCRE AND SELF INDULGENT
> 
> not the most thoroughly edited, but here's an angst-fluff-angst sandwich for the holiday mixtape 2019 to the tune of dreams by van halen but only if it was in a minor scale

_World turns black and white_

_Pictures in an empty room_

Leaving the bunker that night was no easy feat. Castiel had to drag his feet up the steps and out the door, all while tuning out Dean’s emotions from his mind. 

He had made his mind. And so had Dean. 

And it was finally time to leave. 

_Your love starts fallin down_

_Better change your tune, yeah_

A lot crashed down upon Castiel within the first moments after his departure. Overanalyzing and thoughts about Sam and Dean were the bulk of what consumed Castiel’s mind. Taking things to the extreme in a desperate attempt to escape his own mind, Castiel found himself driven to a completely new lifestyle, one with no monsters, no Winchesters, and—most importantly—no chances for him to mess up. 

_Reach for the golden ring_

_Reach for the sky_

_Baby just spread your wings_

It is a good feeling, to be able to get rid of the constant factors attributed with the worst parts of his life, peeling off the scales of misfortune one by one. At his cabin, Castiel adjusts quickly to the feeling of being alone. The responsibility of fending only for himself is refreshing, bringing him back to time way before the Winchesters, way before humanity even. 

It’s nice. 

It’s reassuring. 

Castiel is starting to feel at peace on his own. 

_We'll get higher and higher_

_Straight up we'll climb_

The simple fact is that it isn’t easy. The whole separation thing. 

Sam constantly contacts Castiel, asking for his whereabouts and safety. Dean is constantly on Castiel’s mind, the profound bond from ages ago having flourished to something a lot more. 

It’s not easy. And there are moments where it is hard. 

But Castiel continues along with his solo pursuit, reminding himself that, at the end of the day, the separation isn’t good only for him, but also for the Winchesters and the rest of the world. 

They’ll get through it, he reasons. They always do. 

_We'll get higher and higher_

_Leave it all behind_

And for that reason, Castiel believes he’ll be able to make it through, as well. 

_Run, run, run away_

_Like a train runnin off the track_

He’s at a pier with a fishing pole in his hand. He’s fishing. 

He’s fishing for something he can’t have, something in the form of peace and serenity, balance and happiness.

_Got the truth gets left behind_

_Falls between the cracks_

Castiel knows from where he can find his peace and serenity, fulling aware of the fact that his balance and happiness lies in a completely different environment itself. 

In a completely different person itself. 

_Standing on broken dreams_

Having burned those bridges not too long ago, the angel is left to his own resources at the pier, with the fishing pole in his hand and the bait in his heart. 

Left at that pier for days and days on end, desperate to feel anything else but all that he had been feeling lately. 

Waiting. Waiting for anything else to distract him from the pain of the part of him that he had left behind, the part of him that he believed would never come back.

_Never losin' sight, ah_

Often, during these sessions of waiting, Castiel would find himself lulling into brief moments of suspended awareness, similar to what humans considered daydreams, but only, without the dreams. 

Dreams. Castiel sometimes wished he could dream again, think of possibilities of the future, just as he did when he first met the Winchesters. 

But he had lost that ability long ago, just as he had lost that part of him that belonged to the Winchesters and Jack. 

It will never come back, Castiel understands, gripping tightly to the fishing pole. 

None of it will. 

_Spread your wings_

_We'll get higher and higher_

Confused. 

That’s what Castiel feels in the moment. 

Confusion. 

That’s what clouds his thoughts as the angel simply stares. 

_Straight up we'll climb_

_We'll get higher and higher_

He looks down at the contraption in front of him, trying to make sense of the shape and form, searching for an identification of any sorts. 

Despite his years and years of knowledge and experience, Castiel is unable to place exactly what the object—if it even is an object—is. 

_Leave it all behind_

“Cas!” an excited voice exclaims, booming from directly behind him.

Castiel’s stone face immediately brightens to a smile as he turns to look at a beaming Jack run towards him. 

“Do you like it?” There is nothing but joy in Jack’s words, to which another expression of confusion befalls Castiel. 

“Like what,” he replies, cocking his head to the side. 

“My gingerbread house!” Jack shimmies past the angel to reveal his creation, crazed jazz hands presenting the very pile of mystery Castiel had been looming over seconds ago. 

The mask of confusion immediately dissipates as the angel smiles, doing his best to keep it genuine rather than confused. There’s a minor pit of something in his stomach, much like the ones parents tend to get when they are forced to complement their children’s atrocities. 

“It is marvelous, Jack,” is the best Castiel can muster in the moment. For the young Nephilim, it ends up being more than enough. Pride mixes with joy as Jack thanks Castiel quickly, spinning on his heel excitedly to grab Sam and show him the creation. 

_So baby dry your eyes, save all_

_The tears you've cried_

Castiel is left at the scene to make sense of what he’d just done. Children and parenting weren’t the most natural of feats for the angel, the unfamiliarity having become familiar when he had tried to connect with Claire years back. Even with his own acceptance of his own awkwardness, Castiel still sometimes found himself taken aback by the sheer absurdity of things when it came the young. 

“What are you looking at?” Someone suddenly asks, walking in from behind Castiel. Castiel is able to hear the rustling of what seemed like plastic bags as the individual came closer. 

“Jack’s…” Castiel trails off, trying to remember what Jack’s identification had been. “…gingerbread house.” He then turns to Dean, fully adorning that look of confusion he had been masking in front of Jack. 

The hunter simply beams back and sends a finger towards the ‘gingerbread house’’s direction. 

“Oh that?” Dean chuckles. “Yeah, I helped with that.” Castiel’s face falls as Dean continues the statement with a comment under his breath. “Did most of the work actually, if I’m going to be honest.” 

“Dean.” The angel states flatly.

The hunter glances at Castiel, confused at the sudden change in tone. 

_Oh that's what dreams are made of_

“It’s shit.” 

_'Cause we belong in a world that must be strong_

Heartbreak isn’t easy to describe nor define. Nor is it easy to deal with. The very sadness and discouragement Castiel had tried to avoid with Jack happens to fall upon Dean, crushing the poor man’s soul. 

With Jack, Castiel would have reached forward and scooped the young boy in his arms, trying to reassure and support the other until his spirits rose high again. 

  
With Dean, Castiel simply stares as the hunter tries to push out words of protest, defending his—and Castiel quotes when he says this—“art”. It is a little amusing to the angel, for, while with Jack, the difference between a little harsh love and hate is still unknown, with Dean, the same difference has been clear for years and years, making it easy for the two to poke fun at each other. 

Castiel merely stands in his place, watching the effect of his criticism wreck havoc over Dean. 

“Guys!” Sam’s voice suddenly calls out from the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready!” 

Giving Dean one last look, Castiel turns to head towards the kitchen, his face breaking into a large grin halfway through. Entering the room, he acknowledges Sam with the restrained laughter, the one that threatens to erupt from him at any moment. Sam simply makes his signature confused smile, nodding at Castiel as the angel heads towards Jack. 

Dean follows in suit shortly, looking like a kicked puppy from Castiel’s last comment. A part of the situation registers in Sam’s mind briefly, as the older of the two wordlessly places the racks of beer he had acquired on the counter before awkwardly joining Jack and Castiel near the table. 

Castiel moves quickly to avoid the hunter, smiling more fully at Sam as he starts to help with the kitchen.

“What did you do now?” Sam asks quickly in a whisper. 

“Called his gingerbread house ‘shit’” is Castiel’s rapid, hushed answer. The angel joins Sam in plating the dishes made for their mini holiday, December 20th dinner. The whole debacle had been encouraged by Jack, his defense being the celebration of the completion of a hunt. 

Seconds later, Sam stills with a ladle in his hand and snaps his head fully at Castiel. “The one Jack made?” 

The angel shrugs, “Dean claims he did most of the work.” 

“And it’s terrible?” 

“Affirmatively.” 

Sam snorts and places the ladle in the gravy. “What a loser.” 

The laugh that Castiel had been holding back finally makes it through, finding company in Sam’s following of his own uncontrollable laughter. From behind them, Jack looks on curiously, turning towards Dean for an explanation. 

Dean simply brushes it away at an occurrence of stupidity, ushering the younger towards the table that was waiting to be set up. 

Shortly put, the situation is not discussed at dinner, save for the few glances Sam and Castiel shared every now and then. The four relish the meal, showering Sam with compliments and taking turns discussing foolishness around the table. 

Beer is cracked open, and lively aura continues. 

_Oh that's what dreams are made of_

Castiel steals a look at Dean and Jack, his heartwarming at the image of Dean schooling Jack on a topic—something that Sam would most probably disapprove—with the younger listening in intently. At some moment, Dean catches Castiel’s prolonged glance, smiling softly at the angel as he flashes a cheeky wink his way. 

Yup, Castiel muses. Dean is up to no good. 

As he turns to Sam, he doesn’t dare to spill on the other two, distracting the younger hunter with a rather philosophical discussion about something historical. 

_We'll get higher and higher_

_Straight up we'll climb_

The four are casually seated at their main, map table, enjoying a not-so-quick game of Clue amongst themselves. The game itself had been off to a rocky start, with Sam and Dean attempting to explain the rules to Jack and Cas, each of their perception of the rules contradicting the other. 

“Dean! Why would everyone have to show their cards for your suggestion?” 

“I don’t know, Sammy! Those are just the damned rules!” 

“No, they’re fucking not! It’s not in the booklet! It’s just one person!” 

Regardless of the arguments, the game continues with a plethora of suggestions in every location possible. From the beginning itself, it is quite obvious that the collective strategy had been process of elimination, with the win dependent on the turn of the individual right after everything had been eliminated. 

Lucky enough, Castiel’s turn follows the last disputable suggestion. Sharing a look with Dean—whose turn is after Castiel’s—the angel swiftly rolls the die, knowing very well that he needs a 3 or more to get into the room of the crime. 

He uses this knowledge to his advantage. 

The die rolls a 3, and Dean loses his shit. 

“You did something to the die, didn’t you?” he accuses with aggressive playfulness, letting the frustrations from the beginning of the night to sink in. “There’s no way you rolled a perfect 3.” 

“It’s called ‘luck’, Dean,” Castiel replies smugly, moving his blue piece into the Ballroom. “Someday, you’ll have some, as well.” 

As Sam and Jack cackle at the swift burn, Castiel easily steals the win, taunting Dean with the results in the envelope. The green-eyed hunter steams next to him, threatening Castiel with revenge in the next game they’d play. 

Castiel simply shrugs at the threat. “You beating me at another game still doesn’t change the fact that I won this one.” 

Dean, clad in his stubbornness, simply glares. “Just you watch.” He stands up, heading towards the rooms. “Just you watch, Castiel.” 

Before taking Jack and making his own leave, Sam throws a look to Castiel, holding back his own laugh. 

“Good luck,” is what he says. 

“Got that,” is what Castiel replies before standing to join the others. 

“Good night,” is what Jack interjects with a few moments later, as he enters his room rather sleepily and falls on his bed. 

_Higher and higher leave it all behind_

“Did you really think the gingerbread house was bad?” 

The room is dark as Castiel tries his best to refocus his vision. He’s laying on his back on the bed in his and Dean’s room, his arms outstretched for the hunter to lean up against. The two had just cozied in their large blankets, ready for some moments of relaxation from their comfortingly busy day. Much to the angel’s surprise, Dean hadn’t mentioned anything in regards to his threats. 

Not until this moment, that is. 

Castiel hums. “I could not discern what it was supposed to be.” 

Dean huffs, staying in his position against Castiel’s body. The angel can feel the frown form on the other’s face. “It’s called ‘art’, you idiot.” 

The other chuckles softly and cocks his head to the side, as in acknowledgment of Dean’s point. “In your defense, I have seen weirder art back in the day.” 

“Really?” 

The memories of such art cause Castiel to roll his eyes as he replies in exasperation. “Yes, your’s is far from the worst.” 

Silence falls upon the two of them again, something that is common between the two of them. Nights are easily spent with question-answer scenarios until one of them is completely asleep. 

“You don’t really talk about the past much,” Dean comments softly, moving closer to Castiel. 

The angel hums again, before taking in a breath for a small sigh. “There isn’t much to say, Dean. A lot of what I remember is prompted by moments in battle or hunts or moments at home with your guys. On command, nothing particular comes out.” 

The reply to the explanation is simply a hum of acknowledgment, a way for Dean to relay his comprehension with no effort. 

More silence falls, and Castiel thinks Dean’s done for the night. 

“Cas?” 

By this point, Castiel feels himself become a little frustrated, an emotion that is more or less laced with fondness. 

“Yes, Dean?” 

“Back during Clue when you said that I should try ‘luck’ sometimes,” Dean readjusts himself so he can look back up at the angel. “I can’t try ‘luck’.” 

“Why’s that Dean?” Castiel prepares himself for a cheesy comment, something along the terms of ‘You can’t try luck, it’s abstract.’ 

“Because I used it up all on you, and having you by my side…” he snakes his arm around Castiel’s torso. “…like this.”

_Oh we'll fly higher and higher_

That…

That was not what Castiel had been expecting. 

The angel is left flabbergasted, unable to form thought or words. He simply stares at his partner, his own humanly part of his body reacting to the rather out-of-character comment from the other with an instant flush to his face. The emotions flow through him as his angelic sense taps into Dean’s, feeling the love and longing the hunter had for the angel. 

It’s overwhelming, and the angel short-circuits. 

“Guess I won this game,” Dean suddenly says, a smirk on his face. Castiel knows Dean’s full of it, completely aware of how the other had improved the moment and then proceeded to take it for his own upper-hand. 

Nevertheless, the angel falls prey to the game, quickly pushing out something to secure even the semblance of a win. 

“M-me too.” 

Dean’s smirk turns into a frown. “But the dice…” 

“I tampered with it.” This is true. 

All romance leaves the room and Dean’s face as the hunter suddenly jumps on Castiel. “I fucking knew it!” The angel, unable to fight off his partner’s antics, gives up completely and laughs. 

“I’m telling Sam first thing tomorrow that I won the game,” Dean exclaims, returning back to his position on Castiel’s arm. 

“Do whatever you want, Dean,” the angel says, struggling against his laughs. 

“I will do whatever I want, Cas. Thanks for the approval.” 

Finally calmed down, Castiel looks down at the other, his eyes puffy and red from crying of laughter. “You are so strange, Dean Winchester.” 

_Who knows what we'll find_

The hunter beams at the comment. “Hmm, but that’s why you love me, Castiel.” 

And Castiel is unable to protest. 

_So baby dry your eyes, save all_

_The tears you've cried_

“Why’d you do that?” Cas groans, not moving from his position. The fishing rod is still held in his hands, the bait still dangling from the hook. 

Next to him, a voice speaks soft enough that only he is able to hear it. 

“Why’d you let me?” 

The angel doesn’t answer, looking up at the sky, finding nothing but blue and desperation. 

_Oh that's what dreams are made of_

The answer is known to the both of them, it being unnecessary to announce. 

Yet, the creature finds it necessary to fill the gap, leave the angel behind with one last piece of them before they retreat back to where they had come from. 

“Castiel,” the djinn queen speaks, remaining in her position. “You looked like you needed a dream.” 

To this the angel snorts, the minor reaction turning into a dry laugh. “Angels don’t dream.” He doesn’t turn to her. 

“You once did.” 

_And in the end on dreams we will depend_

_'Cause that's what love is made of_

Again, Castiel doesn’t answer. He just stares blankly at the sky. 

“That was my mistake.” 

_Oh baby we belong in a world that must be strong_

Nothing more can be said by either of them. Castiel resumes his position at the pier, waiting patiently for anything. The djinn queen waits a few moments, observing her own partner, reflecting on the dream that had been. 

A dream that could be, she thinks. She sighs and shakes her head, the complexity of it all baffling her. 

And with one last comment, she leaves the space for good. 

“I just came by to remind you how to dream again.”

Moments, later, Castiel sighs and looks back at the direction the queen had been. 

“Thank you,” is all he says. 

_Oh that's what dreams are made of_

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed! not my best, but it's still something lol rip. 
> 
> find me @uselessspork on tumblr & twitter


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